keep your teeth sharp 
'There's a beast among the wilds again, it would seem.' The worried vocals of the housewife would bemoan to another. The rumors were common among the residents of Sanctuary. Though there was not the discord of tense fear that littered these words. For despite the common knowledge, not a single one of the residents had been harmed. No, the hunters returned unharmed, though they seemed more and more distraught with each gathered corpse for burial. Nameless, most of them. Unknown save for the seldom few that they had crossed paths with before in route to and from cities for trade. Some in pieces, some savaged so severely that no features remained recognizable. The only common theme being that they bore the sigils and colors of Vufrien's ruler and his reach. 'Aye, 'nother wolf I'd reckon from all the howlin' I've heard from the wood recently.' The other would comment in return. They had seen and endured their fair share of feral mad ones in their time here. Those who had lost their sense of humanity or otherwise cursed to their more bestial natures. It wasn't wholly uncommon. However, there was something of a sense of security, as if so long as this one went unprovoked they would be fine and well. How long would it be, however, until it turned inward? How long until they became prey once again? 'We've just been keepin' the youngin's in town limits. Only the elder 'uns go out into the forest lately to hunt. With most our men gone it's not like there's much use in tryin' to deal with it.'

---

The hand of violence was the only one he truly ever knew how to hold.
The dried crimson upon his helmet flaked under his touch as he removed it.

While some things had changed, that was the constant that served to alleviate even the most base hint of the distress that had hollowed out his chest and made its home there. Even still, it felt so tight, as though he couldn't even breathe. Like a serpent constricted viciously around the cavernous shores of his ribcage, stilling the tides and stopping the ships from coming. The very waves themselves were motionless and still, a sea of sable fabric. A monument built to grief, unassuageable. Unstoppable. Inconsolable. But he couldn't understand it, so it was only further frustration that piled itself ever higher. Blame would be placed upon the arrow embedded there, gloved hand finding the fletched shaft and ripping it free of his flesh with careless disregard. Constants. This life was now plagued by new ones. Since he had left the king's army, he had been followed by bondless bounty hunters as well as those better trained soldiers for the sake of bringing him back to the capitol for trial.

He was not the betrayer, however.
He was not the cause for their deaths.
Her death.

A low, savage growl would bleed from his lips as his hand reached for the last of the projectiles, wrenching it from his shoulder. He would clench it within his grasp until the wood splintered and fractured, metal and feathers alike falling haplessly to the bottom of the cavern he had turned into his dwelling. He could still smell it, the wretched iron and copper of their blood. It plagued his senses, it chewed the inside of his cheek raw. He knew them by scent and taste, by the crunch of their bones, by the red that spilled from their broken figures. By the way it felt to hew through the tenderness of skin and visceral meat and carve scars into their bones, ones that would ever recall their trespass should they escape. Cravens. Each and every one of them. Just as they had sought him out, he would hunt them down. Ruthless, malicious, bitter. This had become his forest. His marks etched in warning against the barks of trees, the dried blood of would be assassins and head-hunters pressed into the crevices to mark his bounds.

Still they came forth.
Like ravenous ants, searching for their new hive.
Like writhing maggots seeking their gluttonous fill.

Hard, steel eyes would avert from the dark shadows that were pooling within the egress as Lokir shifted to his feet at the entrance. No growl bloomed from his lips, no snarl beckoned his attention, merely a sudden shift in focus. The inward curl of his shoulders would relax, if but just faintly. His spine straightening slightly from its predatory crouch as the rest of his bodice would turn towards the mouth of the cave where the last dying rays of light would illuminate the source of intrusion, one he already felt he knew. There were few and far between that gained such a reaction from his companion, after all. This was at least no threat.

keep your teeth sharp 
There was an inkling of dread, of guilt that found its way like a thorn into the recesses of his chest, spurning his heart as he lay eye on her. It made him oh so aware of the way she'd looked when she'd come to tell him the news. In comparison to the way he'd last seen her, she'd been happy, hale and healthy, just like their daughter had been. When next he'd seen her, she was pale and gaunt, her normally vibrant hair and skin dull and bleak. Lifeless. He hadn't known that they were doing without. A fool's confidence that budded with the inclination that the families of those in the barracks were receiving their dues and rations all the same. Where had those crescents gone, if not to Ethel and Yggdra? Food, accommodations, necessities, whatever they had needed, whatever they had liked. New silks and fabrics for dresses that the dancer had loved to put together into a little wardrobe. What, too, about the doctor he had requested for her when he'd first been told she was not faring well?

He should have left, he should have listened to his instincts and abandoned the barracks then. He should have taken them somewhere else, back to Sanctuary, to anywhere other than the confines of the city proper. A place where he'd thought loyalty would be rewarded, that blood would run thicker than water. Though in hindsight why he'd considered that a reality when his mother had been sold off as a brood mare was beyond him. In reflection he should have kept to himself. He should have always remained here rather than allowing himself to get close to her. Then none of this would have happened. She wouldn't come to him with the demeanor of a corpse. She wouldn't have lost. He was still just as he was once perceived, an ill omen. A signal of decay. He had tried to change, really, he had. He'd tried to make a living she would see fit as honest. One that wouldn't turn her pale.

Even now, he tried to ward them away. He drew a line that they chose to cross. Continuously.
But he felt it was a worthless effort. All for naught. Useless. Worthless. Meaningless.

He drew a breath in between his lips so that it wouldn't pass by his nose. So he wouldn't have to draw in the scent so ominously familiar to that they had lost. He didn't want to have to smell the warm hints of cinnamon that often accompanied the sprigs in her brooms. The very warmth of her skin that Yggdra had often lain so close again. It was a stark contrast against that of the wilds that inhabited this space. The wild wrath of pelts and meat. The very dampness drawn to the interior of the rock cavern. The remnants of the bear that had dwelled in it before. The stench of sweat and blood that clung to the cold hardness. It was like night and day, and he only yearned to remain in the darkness.

Lokir's tail would brush against the uneven floor, warding up the clots of dirt and dust as she began to make her way into the hovel. This was a place he had frequented often when the threat of the lunar madness had consumed his thoughts. It showed those signs too, the walls etched with the scars of talons cut jaggedly against the face of stone and deeper into the soft bits of soil that had worked its way in. Likewise were the components of humanity. A few rough backed chairs, a small table or so. The likeness of a fire that had obviously been unlit in quite some time. Scones that had once upon a time housed torches within them now empty. There was a rough shelf which would have homed his armor during those times as well, a natural notch delved into the wall that cradled his weapons, but now only brandished the face of the blade she had gifted him. It was clean, despite its surroundings, unburdened by the grime and use the one strapped to his back currently wielded. He wouldn't sully it, not for this.

“I won’t ask you to come back, Dimitris.” Her voice, though gentle, raked across his ears, enough to make his breath stop, holding in that semblance of home he'd dared claim as his own once upon a time. His lungs full of it, unwilling to release it. Despite the almost listless chill that emanated from her, she was so undeniably warm as she settled against his side. She held herself, coiled inwards. “But… I can’t be alone anymore so please… I’ll beg if I must.” Yes, that was right. She was alone. She'd been alone through perhaps what was the worst of it. He'd left her to face those demons for the sake of quarreling with his own because that's all he knew to do. He didn't know how to mend, to comfort. Only how to fight, but there was nothing he could rest his hands on in violence that would help her. There was no blood he could spill that would make her heart beat rightly within her chest. She'd made a poor choice for a mate. He wasn't a good husband. A good man. He hadn't been a good father.

He should have left.
He should have left.
He should have left.

There it was again, that writhing feeling in the pit of his stomach. It threatened to make him sick, and he had to swallow hard, release the pent breath caged in his chest in the volatile of a shaking sigh. “Let me stay here with you.” The brittle veneer of her voice crumbled, breaking. He didn't have a right to this. He shouldn't have the opportunity to offer her comfort. He shouldn't be the one she sought out. In many ways, he had silently hoped she never would. He didn't deserve to have her warmth, to know the treasure of how soft her palms were. But he would do his best, the heavy weight of his arm draping along her shoulders. “Please...” he pulled her closer against his side, the tightness in his throat stopping him from speaking as he felt the reminder of bone pressing just beneath her skin.

He merely sat there for a long while, his jaw ticking with the clench and unclench of his teeth. "Don't need to beg." The words would finally leave him. Not him, not for anything. But this was a request he couldn't fulfill entirely. Not all at once. Not until the dogs would be called off. Not until the last of them met with the earth. Or until he did. "Be safe here for a few days." The comment was perhaps more for himself than her, as it normally took some time for another to find his neck of the woods. She was on his bad side, and he didn't feel as though he could crane his head enough to perceive her, so he merely allowed his head to fall back against the cavern wall, looking into the depth of the shadows that pooled upon its roof. In truth, he didn't know what to say to her. He'd never been very good at finding conversation either, and such a talent certainly had failed to grace his tongue now.

keep your teeth sharp 
Despite the darkness, her outline had spoken silently. Despite the mere drape of his arm about her shoulders, they pressed into his skin in biting confirmation. Still, she bore the plea of their injuries, her own and Yggdra's. The capitol had taken more than its fair share from them - from her. She remained thin, gaunt, a ghastly reminder of those final days before he was seen as a traitor. Before his mere presence could be enough to condemn her. Before he sought that condemnation with all he had left. He was a creature sewn to violence, a conjoining coupled to his very skin at birth. If it was naturally so or tethered with thread and needle by his old man, he knew not. He couldn't recall a time when he didn't hold that hand, when those elongated, brittle, dangerous fingertips didn't stroke along his own digits and send chills along his spine when those cryptic nails raked along the back of his hand. He'd thought that all children were reared the same. That they fought and earned their keep. That their flesh wept when they were in the wrong. That their lessons were carved in lasting rivulets of red until their eyes no longer relinquished their saline. Until they were numb to the sensation of it.

But when he'd held that little girl in his arms, he could never imagine such a thing.

He didn't want her hands to bear the callouses that his did. He didn't want her to be dyed in scarlet and wave a banner stitched in cruelty. He'd wanted to watch her smile, hear her laugh. Their laughter. Ethel had always caught his eye, ensnared his attention, even when he had wished she hadn't, but there was naught that had compared to watching her waltz around those few days and weeks he was afforded with little Yggdra tight within her arms. A little family. All his own. There never would have been enough time with them, but he'd never had dreamed that such a precious span would be cut so effectively short. The sheer of fate had severed that path, leading unto naught but the abyss. Always, that regret would settle like nails driven through his gut. Leaving after receiving the notice that he was to be expected back at the barracks, that his allotted time away had come to an end. Despite how heavy his feet were, he'd departed. No matter how his legs had been filled with lead, he'd said his good byes under the aegis that he was doing what was best for them.

He'd have fought through hell itself to bring her back. Through its fire and chill, through stasis and end. None could have imagined the violence he would commit to be that gentle for her. Anything. He'd have done anything for them, and... Yet...

He was stirred from the path of his nightly ruination by the quiet touch of her fingers, gentle against his own. She intertwined with them, housing the brutal vehemence within a cell away. Another reminder of how much smaller she was, the same inclination that always visited with the tenderness of her caress, and a new one now as well. “There was some blood outside… was it yours, Wolf?” He couldn't recall her ever calling him that, and there was a dark noise that bloomed within the width of his chest at it, not unlike a soft, reverberating growl. Was it? Perhaps it was his. But it wasn't enough. They never drew enough to make it meaningful. They didn't draw enough to make it end, though he wasn't willing to make such a task easy for them either.

He grunted lightly, shifting his weight faintly against the hard breadth of stone, focus seeking her silhouette in the dimness. "Probably just from the elk." It was then he also noted her choice of clothing and lack there of when it came to shoes. He'd need to make her a fire, if she truly intended to stay. The hastily descending night brought with it a bitter chill that would settle into her bones if she wasn't careful. Thought in mind, he would unfasten the heavy weight of his cloak, the pelts forming it settled over her as he was careful to make sure she was entirely covered. As if thinking the same, or perhaps just his keen intuition, Lokir would rise, his form stretching out low and lazy before draping himself over her feet and resettling upon the furs. "Hungry?" 

keep your teeth sharp 
For a long moment, there was quiet, aside from the rustling of the furs along the stone flooring. Any other time, he may have smiled, the ghost of a laugh upon his breath as she wriggled beneath the given cover. That first breath of familiarity, the first reminder that there was still yet a spark of life within those mirrored pools of silver. That her countenance still yet knew the taste of mirth. That in some ways, she was still the woman she had once been, the one that he had placed that sacred ring upon the finger of.

He'd missed her.

He would normally spend the rest of the evening at ends with the past. His mind would be engulfed in the flames of turmoil and the bedlam that came with it. He would replay them, each and every action since they had left their home in Sanctuary. There was so much he had missed out on. There were so many things that he would change if he had half the chance. Choices he would have taken the other path of, should he be given the ability to do so, but he wouldn't. All he could do was allow the events to replay like a morbid loop, one that haunted him even should he find sleep. A vexing thing now, its avoidance of him clarion in the deep, dark rings that christened his eyes.

Distraction was given this evening, effectively derailing the normalcy of his night. His hunt was done, his prey slaughtered for the time being. He'd have thought her to never grace this hovel with her presence, and while there was a strong part of him that had dreaded even the notion of it; there was also a quiet whisper of thankfulness, path avoided from the given encroaching onslaught of self destruction. It certainly wasn't that he had forgotten her, either, just the knowing that she would be a targeted member of the festivities as well should he return home. Along with the cold nagging that she would be far better off without his presence.

“Not terribly.” She would answer his inquiry, and though his back was to her as he breathed life into the little flame with a careful fan of his palm, he could feel her eyes light upon him. The coarse tinder placed within the heart of the stone ring hearth sparked to life, stirring the ash there from better times. If there were any other hunters in the area, it may draw their eye, a chance he didn't take on his own, though not enough of a reason to deny her the warmth she would need. For him, it was simple enough. The thick pelts of various beasts he had draped her with and the bedding of like material was more than enough to keep him from freezing. It didn't take long for the licking tongues to be coaxed to life, hungrily nipping at the dried logs placed carefully upon the fledgling embers.

It breathed life into the cavern, an illumination that he had nearly forgotten the details of. “But I brought your gift with me.  Guessin’ this is some of that elk?” He would tilt his head slightly as he turned back to face her, to look at her now in the light of the flame. The undertones of red within her chestnut hair gleamed within the plight of the coals, it returned some of the luminosity to her skin, the brightness to her gaze. Lokir, however, didn't seem to take heed of it either way as he held the treat betwixt his front feet and tore at it gratefully with his teeth. His own piece caught as she tossed it to him. The texture was different than he had become accustomed to, though the difference in taste was lost upon him other than the distinct lack of copper and iron. He watched as she tentatively bit into her own piece, a slight frown touching his features. "Rather have fresh?" He would ask, though he didn't have the utensils of a traditional kitchen, he could easily spear a cut upon a stick over the fire for her if she'd prefer.

He would lean back against the wall across from her, observing her carefully in the gilded glow of warmth. His arms would settle across his chest  in a lax cross as he watched her likewise glimpse over her own surroundings. Her moonstone eyes hooked and drug along the claw torn walls. “Dimi…” she would begin, her voice withered with worry, “You said it’s safe, right?” He would nod in affirmation. "Aye. The hunt's done for now."

keep your teeth sharp 
He'd have thought her company would be filled. A chalice with many faces providing contents to the emptiness in the wake of their move. While he had never quite settled in with the folk of the town, she had. She danced with them, spoke with them, broke bread with them. She worried for them, and in turn, he had taken somewhat of an interest within them as well. When he had first noted the change, he had brushed it off as nothing, but as he had finally accepted the fact that he had truly begun to care for his arranged wife, so too did he grip that he had helped those of Sanctuary as a means to feel... closer to her. Closer to the troubles she availed him of, the trials and tribulations these people faced.

It had felt... nice to help people for a change. To defend them from the wilds they had to brave in order to make their own ends meet. He also hadn't merely holed himself away to lick the blood from his own wounds and merely hope for the best. His hurts had been squawked and fretted over despite his easy dismissals and the way they healed quite quickly on their own given he provided them enough time. Very unlike the way he did now, falling back into the deep ruts of old habits. They would be gone, mere fresh scars on the canvas of his marred skin within a few days. The tight pressure in his chest would cease, the limited mobility of his arm would dissolve. Annoyances that were making themselves apparent as he lost the cover of adrenaline, of anger and rage as he slipped into the easy comfort she provided. Despite the war her apparition sparked within him, she also brought the closest thing he knew of peace as well. A duality that walked hand in hand.

To his inquiry, she would merely nod, the action almost lost as she nearly disappeared into the drape of his cloak. If she was to stay for any amount of time, he would be forced to make her get clothes, at least long enough for him to drown the damn thing in the lake. He held a wonder at how she even withstood it, the scent of the wilds, the rust and copper of prey - his own. Confusion would mar the bridge of his brow as he shook his head at her lightly. Such things failed to bother him, once accustomed and only refamiliarizing himself with such nuances. A low breath left him as he settled his thoughts on a better distraction.

Ethel had always been the one hovering over the stove, rather it be something light or otherwise. While he provided her with smoked and dried meats and the seasonal fruits of the forest, he couldn't recall a time when he'd truly tasked himself with cooking anything for her. A slight frown tugged at his mouth, hoping that he still had some manner of seasoning. Salt, he knew, as he used it to cure the cuts for better preservation, but other than that... He shifted, grabbing a knife and stepping to the entrance to the cavern to carve a small, supple branch from a nearby tree. Already at work carving away at the end as he stepped back inside, only to find her appraising the marks along the wall.

The whittling slowed faintly as he watched her. Understanding of her prior question dawning upon him as she posed another: “Did you kill it?” He tested the makeshift spit he intended to roast her cut of meat with. “The creature that made these?” A low grunt left him, pleased with his current task. Deeper into the cavern, where the sun never touched and frigid springs provided a chill pool for the remnants of the elk. He returned, carefully scoring the rich red meat, though his gaze now lingered fully on her. "No." He'd originally gauged her askance based on those that hunted him, not the turbulent and violent proof of his outbursts. The older ones belonging to the days in which he'd hide here to avoid the gaze of the moon. The newer ones carved in opposition to this wretched reality and the inability to understand and properly express the grief of loss.

"Not yet." He salted the steak, adding a bit of the peppercorns he still possessed as well, settling the pike over the open flame. He hoped it would turn out edible for her, much like the piece of jerky that Lokir finally finished tearing apart and devouring. The sound of his vicious shredding replaced only with the soft thump of his tail as he remained settled where she had departed.